To his
servant, who was to fire, he explained exactly how matters were, and had
said to him:

"Do not kill the rascal, but give him a wound that will forever stop his
boastings, and break his power over the poor deluded hundreds, who
firmly believe he can do what he has so boastfully declared."

The low, shrill whistle call had made a great change upon the conjurer
in the tent. He was now all boastfulness, and his cries were like the
shouts of triumph:

"Waters cannot drown me; bullets cannot pierce me; fires cannot burn
me."

"Are you sure you are ready?" said Mr Ross.

Shouting his defiance, the conjurer came out from the tent, and walking
to a place where he knew the fine sand in the bullet of bear's grease
would not hurt him, he boldly stood up, and stretching out his hands
defied the shooter to do his best.

"You are sure, are you, that bullets will not hurt you?" said Mr Ross.

Very haughty was the conjurer's reply. Then said Mr Ross again; "If
you are hurt, no one will be to blame."

"No, indeed," was the conjurer's reply, "for I have given the challenge,
and my familiar spirit has told me that the bullets cannot pierce me."

"If you are struck, then you will give up your conjuring, and go and
hunt for your own living, like other people?"

He hesitated for a moment, but the low, shrill whistle was once more
heard, and so he fairly shouted out:

"If bullets can pierce me I will forever give up my conjuring, and
destroy my magic drum and medicine bag."

"All right," said Mr Ross; then, turning to his servant, he said, "Now,
Baptiste, fire!"

Taking deliberate aim, the man fired, and, as the report rang out, from
one of the uplifted hands of the conjurer who was standing about fifty
yards away--there fell a finger, as neatly cut off by the bullet as
though a surgeon's knife had done the work.

With a howl of rage and pain most decidedly un-Indian-like, the conjurer
began dancing about, much to the amusement of the boys, who a moment
before were pale with pent-up excitement; for it is rather trying to
look on and see in the hands of a skillful marksman a gun loaded with
ball and pointed at this boastful man, who was willing to put his magic
against the skill of the finest shot of the country.

Much to the surprise of all but Mr Ross and one or two others who saw
through the trick, the old fellow, with his wounded hand still profusely
bleeding, rushed over to his confederate and began abusing hi